Don't Look Back(30)

My mouth went dry.

Shoulders shaking with silent laughter, Carson reached down, grasped my hands, and pulled them so that they were clasped across his navel. The motion brought my breasts flat against his back and left very little room in other places. The scent of him—citrus and soap—seeped in under the helmet.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Not because of the jerk of the bike moving into gear or the fear of flying off when his tires moved onto asphalt, but because every cell in my body was responding to how close we were. It was wrong, the way I snuggled against his back as the wind beat upon us, especially when I hadn’t even felt a smidgen of this with Del.

Cassie lived about five miles past the old Battlefield, down a road obscured by large maples. As we passed the numerous monuments and old, wooden fences surrounding them, interest stirred inside me, and I almost wanted to ask Carson to stop. When we rode up to Cassie’s house, it was like seeing another version of my own—sprawling and beautiful.

Carson came to a stop, and I slowly took off the helmet. So many questions went through my head. What would I say when I saw her parents? Would they be welcoming or turn me away? Most of all, was I making a mistake by coming here?

Carson placed his hand on my arm intuitively. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

I nodded slowly as I climbed off the bike, my eyes taking in the white exterior and red shutters. Nothing stirred inside me.

“We can knock on the door whenever you’re ready,” Carson said.

As much as I appreciated that, I knew I needed to do this now. Smiling at him, I headed up the front steps and knocked on the door. Carson’s warmth pressed against my back, and I wondered if he’d ever know how much that meant to me.

A few seconds later, the red door swung open. An older man appeared, wearing dress pants and a wrinkled shirt. Heavy creases spread out from faded blue eyes that darted from me to Carson.

I drew in a shallow breath. “I’m Sa—”

“I know who you are,” he said. “I was wondering when you’d come by.”

A chill snaked down my back.

“Mr. Winchester,” Carson said, inching forward so he was in front of me. “Samantha doesn’t—”

“Remember anything?” he interrupted, his eyes never leaving my face. “That’s what the detective has told us.” A deep, unforgiving line appeared between his brows. “If you’re here to see Cassie’s mother, she’s in bed and not taking visitors.”

I had no idea who this man was, but he seemed too old to be Cassie’s father. “I’m not here to see her mother. I was hoping that... I could see Cassie’s room.”

“And why would you want to do that?” He glanced at Carson, his nose twitching.

“I was hoping that it would help me remember her—what happened.” I think I knew what was up with the look. “We aren’t here to steal any of her stuff.”

“I can stay outside,” Carson suggested, voice flat. “It’s no problem.”

The old man huffed but stepped aside. “Not that I expected that either of you would steal her stuff. I don’t imagine you remember which room is hers?”

Relieved, I stepped inside. “No. Sorry.”

Carson sighed. “I do.”

If that surprised Mr. Winchester, he didn’t show it. “You have ten minutes, and then I must ask you to leave. Please be quiet.”

Not wasting time, Carson wrapped his hand around mine and led me around the old man. We went up three flights of stairs and down a hall.

“Who was he?” I asked in a hushed voice.

“Cassie’s grandfather. Not a very friendly man.” He flashed a quick grin. “So don’t take that welcome personally.”

I glanced down at his hand around mine. “Where’s her dad?”

“As far as I know, he wasn’t in her life and never had been.” Letting go of my hand, he stopped in front of a door that had three large daisies with pink petals drawn on it. “This is Cassie’s grandfather’s house. Her mom is pretty young, a good ten years younger than your parents. Between that and there being no daddy...”

“I bet that caused a scandal.”

“Knowing you rich people? Probably,” he said, and his jaw tensed. “You ready?”

I nodded.

Carson opened the door, letting me step inside first. A rush of cool air brought a peachy scent that tugged at me. I inhaled deeply, waiting for more but finding only a distant sensation.

Her room wasn’t much different than mine, but as I walked over to her desk, running my fingers over her notebooks, I felt like I was walking inside a tomb. Shivers ran up and down my spine.

Carson remained by the door, silent and watching. I stopped in front of a stack of photos. Going through them, I kept waiting for a memory to spark. There were pictures of us together on a beach, at school, and at a ski resort. We wore matching outfits— pale pink. Some of the pictures were with our other friends. One I recognized from New Year’s Eve because of the dress she wore.

She was in Del’s lap. Both had huge, sloppy smiles on their faces.

Making a face, I showed it to Carson. “I have no idea who took this picture. Me? Trey?”

Carson’s brows rose. “I don’t know.”

Her arm was around Del’s neck, her check pressed against his. Del’s hand was on her hip. “Awful comfy, these two,” I murmured.